Cowboy Bebop: The Engine Blues Sessions
by IrideonthePURPLEbus
Summary: My first Bebop fanfic where I've made a real effort to preserve the characters. I do not dcide what anyone would do just because I want them to do it. I will probably be surprised by the chars and what they do. But either way, I hope you enjoy it.
1. Hammerhead

**Engine Blues**

part one:

**Hammerhead's Tune**

The hum of Hammerhead's engine greeted him with its usual timber; steady and reliable. When Jet thought about it, it was the Hammerhead that had received the least damages in their career, and definitely was the least likely to break down or get hacked. Of course when you counted Ed, the Bebop had been the safest.

Jet revved the engine loudly to drown out Ed's voice in his head. Start thinking about Ed, you'll think about Ein. Start thinking about Ein, you'll think about Spike.

That damn Spike was nothing but trouble. He always tried to drag everyone down with him. Lousy jackass. "Better off without him." He voiced aloud, folding his arms and leaning back in the seat. "One less mouth to feed."

"Hey."

Jet started. He didn't jump. He wasn't paranoid. He turned his head to see Faye, his arms slowly unfolding and falling on his knees. "What?" He asked gruffly.

Faye had her hands on her hips, leaning forward slightly as though she were reprimanding a teenager. This didn't help her neck, seeing as she was on the floor and Jet was up in the cockpit. "You're talking to yourself."

Jet didn't feel he should honor that with an answer. Queue the 'you got a problem?' stare.

"Are you just going to sit there all day?"

"I don't see you rushing off in your ship."

"Well I would, but it's not fixed yet."

"Who said _I_ was going to fix it?"

"How are we going to catch any bounties without the Redtail!"

"Next time I'll take my ship out then!"

"Aren't you getting a little old for that?"

"If you don't like the way I run this ship, you can leave anytime you want, I'm not stopping you!"

The two stared at each other stubbornly. Faye's hands were now fists at her sides, and Jet was bracing himself against the door. They weren't exactly yelling yet. They knew enough to stop before then. Better to fume silently and go on living then fighting and doing shitty on their own. After a while both averted their eyes, Faye turning her gaze upon a spare wheel for the swordfish.

"Go on then, before the store closes."

"Right." Jet closed the hatch and prepared to take off. The air was thick with fumes from the engine; which had been running the whole time. He flipped the switch for the recycler before gunning the jets.

----------Yippie-ka-yea----------

As he passed over the city lights, Jet's radio died. "Oh, Fucking……Great."

He slapped the thing a couple of times, and managed to knock it lose from its precariously duct-taped position. He stared at it. "The one thing in this ship that keeps me from going insane and it breaks. Nice."

After a long period of silence, Jet found himself deep in conversation, as he often did when he was alone. "…Hell, everyday I said to myself that you wouldn't come back, and I was right. It would've all worked out great if the girl hadn't come along."

He adjusted his grip on the handles. "you were just fine with leaving her here with me. She doesn't belong on the Bebop. She shouldn't be a bounty hunter, and she's not good enough o' one to keep herself out of trouble. She doesn't have you to come save her butt anymore." He paused. "She's a pain in the ass. Always relying on us…me, for help. One day I'll get fed up and no one will rescue her."

He leaned back in the seat. "But that's the price she pays for dragging me around. I feel like some stray dog dragged through the mud. I'll be burning both ends of the candle to keep us afloat, while she'll go off and blow our money on the races, like she always does…" He whittled himself down into lonely silence again.

Jet felt old. Real old. Like give him rubber pants and call him geriatric old. He figured that one of his old friends from the I.S.S.P. could stand a chat with an elderly ex-pig for a couple of minutes.

"Jet! Man it's been a long time. Heard you're dabbling in the westerns now. What in hell on earth possessed you to do that?"

Jet smiled the slightest bit. "I don't know. I'm still waiting for it to pay off, but I just keep getting screwed over."

"Jet Black never calls someone just to kill time. I'm guessing you want info on the newest mugs, right? What with Big Shot getting cancelled and all…"

Jet blinked. "What? Well I guess so. Didn't really cross my mind at all…"

Sidney leaned closer to the screen, smiling devilishly. "Sure thing, not crossing your mind; you tactician. Well to tell you the truth, most of the officers here are working on the Jane Doe case. We're letting Mars worry over the bounties for a while, we've got our own problems now. It would a good break from all the stupid syndicate crap, in a morbid sort of way."

Jet succeeded in not flinching at the mention of the Martian syndicates. Just Barely. "Jane Doe?"

"Don't tell me you haven't heard, Jet! She's been all over the networks!"

"…I haven't been following things as much."

The detective merely shook his head. "You've still got at least thirty years to retirement…" He withered when he saw the look on Jet's face. "Alright then……Geez, where to begin…Well she appeared on the map about four months ago. There was a fight over at Hermopolis. Real dodgy bar, lots of mugs. Turns out a boozer attacked her…"

Jet looked. "And?"

Sidney shook his head. "Not a pretty sight, the guy's in critical. Pretty much his entire rib cage is broken, as well as a chipped skull and damage to the spinal column. The doctors' guess is that when he wakes up, or rather, if he wakes up, he'll be paralyzed from the waist down. The strange thing is she didn't want anything to do with the guy, from what the witnesses say. Apparently he swung a chair at her. Hadn't moved from her stool until then. The whole thing was over in about five seconds. Never once landed a punch or pulled out a weapon."

Jet frowned. "So? That's barely enough to put a bounty on someone."

"The bartender had enough common sense not to clean her glass. We took the fingerprints and DNA back to the lab. The DNA wasn't readable. She probably gets those new black market masker shots. Anyway, we ran a standard check on the fingerprints. We couldn't identify them, but they matched up with prints from other crimes. Way too many too count. I know what you're going to say Jet, but for some reason her prints weren't in the living records."

"What about the deceased? It doesn't make sense, but maybe she tampered with the records somehow. The files can't be stolen, but they can be moved, can't they?"

"They're not there, either. Besides, we only started to save the records of dead people in the past few years. She could've faked her own death. It's nearly impossible to do it nowadays, but a person with as much skill as hers could pull it off."

"Skill? How is being able to beat someone within and inch of their life a 'skill'!"

The cowboy asked, propping his elbows up on the monitor.

"This is the first recorded act of violence we have. She deals mainly in thefts, but big time stuff. Her thumbprint was confirmed in numerous government cases; lots of it was stuff that no one wanted to touch until the bar fight. After the pattern was uncovered, the government called it a priority and all the high-up amoral cowards in the I.S.S.P. tried to get their greasy paws on it.

"Most of the stuff is surveillance tech and little compact weapons. All of the articles are very Bond-esque. Bug-sized macrochips, sunglasses with hacking programs, yadda yadda, It's more of a shock that the government makes some of this shit than it is that she stole it. Granted, none of that gets out to the public, or at least not yet."

Jet was getting increasingly impatient. "What about the money card? She paid for the drinks right?" He interrupted.

Sidney smiled humorlessly. "I was getting to that. Yea, she paid for them. Tossed the bartender the card after the fight, and left. We tried to track it, and at first it seemed pretty valid enough. When we tried to find the creator, or the brand, it sent us through a maze with no way out. This tiny piece of plastic had some pretty advanced shields. It was actually able to hack into, and disable the security, and run enough programs to crash the I.S.S.P. mainframe. Took us two days to reboot. Thankfully, only a few guys took advantage of that. We were able to bust them easily. We have no idea what she knows, though. She could be connected to the system right now and we wouldn't know it. She could've done anything to it.

"And the thing has no code. The card can be wiped blank, and replaced with new information daily. It would be impossible to track."

"We guess that she's not working alone. We're guessing she has a partner. Evidence leads to some connection to the mob, but we're not sure about the level of intimacy between them. You can go after her if you're crazy enough Jet."

Jet frowned. "How much." He said, his speech was merely on autopilot; his mind was off on a runaway train of thought.


	2. Enter Lorraine

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Author's note: Sorry it took me so long. I got distracted what with my new laptop coming and the prospect of seeing this guy at this party and its totally been consuming my life of late. Oh and that research essayish thing Mr. Tibbles gave us. That too. So tell me how you like the two new characters. The beginning of this was really hard because I've never worked from Faye's perspective. Usually I work from Jet's. Ah well if it turns out bad it turns out bad

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Faye looked at the assembly of food on the counter, resting her head on her shoulder, and her shoulder on the doorway, her arms folded in the way that allowed her to hang on to her own elbows.

Jet glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he chopped the carrots. He recognized that look in her eyes from the good two years she was with them. He slowly slid his focus back to the carrots. "There's no extra money, Faye. Besides, I've never given you handouts before. What makes you think that I'll do it now?"

Faye groaned. "ugh! I don't think I can stand another night of steamed vegetables. Jet, where'd all the bounty heads go?"

Jet scowled. "They all got squished under someone else's shoe. Ganymede's got a public enemy no. 1 now, do you know?"

She leaned in. "What? No I didn't. What's he like?"

Jet continued with his over-attentive vegetable chopping. "She. They know just about as much about her as Vincent. All they have to go on are police sketches and patterns, but so far, the only connections are stolen technology equipment and false identity. People would have to be crazy to go after her. That's why the posted reward is so big."

Faye blinked. "A reward? How much?"

Jet paused to brandish a spoon at her. "Remember Vincent?"

Faye rasied a brow. "What, so she's all the way up to three hundred million!"

Jet's glare was deadly. "Not even close. Since the government's mostly the victim here, the state of Ganymede put out a two billion woolong bounty. Two billion, Faye. And she's not even threatening all life on the planet."

Faye legs literally gave out. She was only able to save her dignity by gripping the wall and pulling herself back up. "How much?" She wasn't crazy enough to go after that. Nobody would be. "You're not thinking of going after her, are you?"

But Jet's face still held the same solid rock expression. We gotta eat right?"

"Well then let's just go to Mars. I'm sure there are lots of small fries there we can go after instead of this maniac."

"I never said_ you _have to go after her. Dinner's ready, so help yourself. I'll eat later.

Jet abruptly walked out of the kitchen, apron still on, and down the steps on his way to his destination, wherever it was.

"What, are you trying to kill yourself!" She yelled after him, flinging her hands up heatedly. "Fine! You go do that, but of all the people to go insane, and at any time, Jet-!" She groaned again as he disappeared, and took a few angry steps toward the food. "Why do I hang out with the shittiest crowds?"

Faye stared at the stirfry. It was probably cold by now. She wouldn't want to eat it even _if_ she had an appetite. Why did Jet have to pick this moment to go insane? She'd always relied on him to be the one to knock some sense into people, even herself occasionally. Jet was always there for advice, even if she didn't listen to it. Now he thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted, and just because Spike was dead. Did he feel that he had nothing else to lose? Did he hate her that much that he'd just leave her to go off and risk his life? Maybe that was it; maybe he couldn't stand living now that HE was dead. She pounded the countertop with a fist, tears of rage leaving thick tracks of salt on her cheeks. She hated it. She hated them both. No matter how hard she tried, or how well she did, those two always excluded her. They pretended like they were in a secret club, always sending coded messages to each other. If Spike left, Jet automatically understood. If Jet left…Well, Jet never left, but if he had, Spike would've just laughed it off and said that he'd come back. Well screw them both, they could go to hell. Them _and _their little code.

A small voice popped up in Faye's head. 'But what about that time when he was fixing your ship?' Jet said that Spike was nothing but trouble. Jet didn't give a damn. Was he just so pissed that he didn't care anymore? Had they thrown him over the edge? Why was she worrying so much about JET? She could fend for herself; she didn't need a traveling companion. But where would she go? The fact that she had nowhere else to turn to had forced her to make a home here. And as soon as she decided to settle down for good, that damned Spike had to leave and ruin everything for everybody. And that girl too, and Ein. Dammit, Jet was the only one left.

Faye felt the need to Punch something else, which turned out to be the wall. She needed to find Jet again; it didn't feel right to her that he would do such a thing.

Lorraine sat straight up in bed, which by now was drenched with sweat. She took in her surroundings; the plain white walls of the cheap apartment she and D.J. had rented. There were file cabinets and chests filled to the brim with every kind of stolen technological marvel. The stuff that didn't fit inside was piled on top, creating the illusion of one big computer-y mound. She slid down the ladder of her loft bed, and pulled a pair of jeans on before walking into the kitchen. To her surprise, the light was on.

DJ sat there at the dinky little table, skin parched by the light from his laptop screen, his data goggles on and connected by weird tube-looking wires to sensors on the tips of his fingers, which were typing away furiously.

"…You're still up?"

He continued to tap the keyboard for about thirty seconds, then paused, taking his goggles off and placing them on the parlor window next to him. He massaged his eye sockets and grinned. "Of course, who needs sleep?" He said sarcasticly as he watched her fish in a cabinet for aspirin.

"That's unhealthy. You're going to get deprivation and start to hallucinate."

The hacker raised his eyebrows. "I can say the same for you. Every night you wake up and come in here. Either you've got a dependency for ibu profin, or you have some seriously twisted nightmares. That's not natural for someone your age."

Lorraine glared at him. "Thank you, Dr. Phil. When did I ever tell you how old I was?"

"Come on, I haven't had any since I was twelve."

She looked envious as she swallowed the pill with a glass of water. "Consider yourself lucky."

He merely laughed and murmered to himself as she walked out the door. "If you really think so…"

She rolled her eyes as she went into the TV room. "There anything good to watch?"

D.J. called back from the kitchen. "It's three in the morning. All you're going to get is infomercials and porno."

"HEY!" She called back, mock defensively. "Some porno is written VERY well!" She flicked the TV on. The screen lit the room with its eerie grey light. The familiar tune of Big Shot came on. Already the rerun had moved into the classic cancelled stations. It was kind of sad that the ganymedians didn't watch anything else. And their stereotype was of a cultured snob, too.

Shuuuucks Ghowdeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! All three meelleeon bountee ghunters een thee seestem; ghow y'all DOin?"

"Saddle up buckaroos it's time for Big Shot! Pachooom!"

"Wee breeng you the low down on all the ghot bountee ghea…"

Lorraine kind of tuned out at that point, the remote hanging limply from the tips of her tomboyish fingers as she plopped her chin on D.J.'s shoulder. He must have moved next to her a while ago.

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Tired?" He asked. This time his tone was softer, more sincere, as the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

She sighed and crumpled into a cat-like ball as she shifted her ear onto the shoulder. "Oh hell…"

He chuckled softly. "I don't want the fame Either, Jane…"

She snorted and replied grudgingly; "You don't have the fame."

"They pretty much nailed you dead on in that police sketch you know…"

"I know."

"And the public doesn't even know what you've done."

"I know."

"Just that you're wanted dead or alive."

Lorraine was starting to get impatient. "I KNOW."

"And the funny thing is they think they're onto some sort of crimelord orginazation thing an-"

"I KNOW, D.J. I KNOW!" D.J. flinched and turned toward her. Previously her head had slipped down to his lap, but now she was sitting up straight again. They stared at each other for a bit, until she averted her gaze to the television. The images bounced off her mirror glasses.

"I hear enough of that all day D.J. … Can't we talk about something else?" She pleaded. D.J. Hesitated, then sighed. "There's really…nothing else we can talk about, I mean. I don't know anything about you. You don't know anything about me…"

Lorraine looked at him sharply. "What, so you want me to spill my life's story, is that it!"

"no, I…"

Tell you every detail, every turning point in my life? Day by day? Or do you just want me to tell you enough so that you can hack the rest from my records? Which is it, D.J.?"

D.J. sat there and stared. He just stared. "All I-"

"There are things about me you don't want to know. You don't want to know my life. Hell, I don't want to know my life. You wanna know what those nightmare's are about!"

"Jane, I-"

"They're about my stupid everyday life from the age of three all the way up to the age of fifteen, when I met you, D.J.!"

"It's not like-"

"My life has been shit and misery all through it, whether I was oblivious to it or not, and the few things that gave me comfort were all torn away from me in one night."

"I JUST WANT TO KNOW YOUR NAME!" Lorraine faltered. D.J.'s chest heaved, and despite himself, his eyes were wet. "Is that so much to fucking ask, Jane? A real, solid god forsaken name."

Lorraine still stared at him. "Lord knows, its been nearly five years." He said anrily, standing up and walking out.

She seeme to mouth a word at his back as he walked out, ut he didn't see it. "I hope your happy with yourself."

She heard the bedroom door close. She just sat there for a while, the silhouettes of forgotten figures playing against the wall. Finally she had enough sense to turn the tv off. She sat there in the dark, listening to the cars and ships passing outside. After a while she broke down and held her head in her hands.


	3. Gateway Tunes

**Gateway Tunes**

**3**

Disclaimer: I do not own any show, or character from cowboy bebop. The original idea is not mine. This is a **fanfiction.**

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"It's not like I'm rushing into this without thinking, Faye. Intellect and logic can figure her out." Faye merely kept frowning. Jet hesitated, conjuring up another sentence. "Besides, as long as I don't come charging at her head on, she won't kill me. I won't be in danger if a do it carefully."

Faye's voice was full of accusation. "Then why won't you let me go after her too?"

"It's going to take awhile. Do you think food will magically appear?

"I could go instead, you know. You were always the one that did that stuff before."

"It's MY ship Faye."

"It's ALWAYS your ship. I live here too. And if the two of us are going to get along without……If the two of us are going to get along, I'd better get a say in things."

"Well, fine, if you want to help you can; nothing's stopping you, but It's my life, and I'm going to decide what I do.

Faye's hands left her hips and braced her body against the railing. "It's psychotic, Jet."

He folded his arms. "I'm getting old; I'm allowed to be insane."

"Well the way you go on about it, you sound like it's your sixty-fifth birthday!"

"Maybe it is!" Jet took a step up so he was level with her. She leaned forward and put an angry finger on his chest. "YOU'RE not even CLOSE to sixty!"

Jet leaned forward, eyebrows knit together. He placed his hands on his waist and put all his weight on one foot. "OH YEAH! Since when do YOU know so much about me!"

Faye leaned forward as well, so much that she had to put her foot on the stair below, the one right above Jet's. "GUYS WHO ARE SIXTY DON'T HAVE MUSCLES LIKE YOU!"

Jet was subdued to glaring at her. He really couldn't come back to that without being illogical or contrary, partly because she was mostly right, and partly because he'd be fighting what could almost be considered a compliment, especially in the context of the argument. He knew he had lost, but he wasn't going to let it slide.

As if to add insult to injury, Faye added "And don't threaten to throw me out Jet, I know you won't."

"How do you know I was going to say that!"

"Because you always do! It's down to three sentences every time you lose; It's my ship, I can kick you out, and I'm getting too old for this shit!"

"Alright, fine! I lose, you win! You get to gloat to all your friends, you beat Jet, the crusty old cop. You've finally won Faye. So I hope you're happy."

He swerved around her, and up the steps, the sound of boots against metal steps fading behind her. Faye stayed locked in the same position, biting her lip for a moment. Then she sort of retracted into a hunched figure, her arms wrapped around her waist, and her head resting on her collarbone, one leg slightly bent in her typical way. Her eyes slid around to glance as far into her peripheral vision as possible. About five minutes after he had stormed away, a faint 'no' escaped her lips.

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No, that wasn't right, why'd he do that? He just hacked off a perfectly good limb that he could have trimmed. The plant looked lopsided now. He set the clippers down next to him harshly, making the pots jump a centimeter high, and tore his gloves off, tossing them into a corner. He then proceeded to knead his forehead.

"Why do I keep doing this?" He breathed, exasperated, at the bonsai. The bonsai stared indictingly back. "I don't' _try_ to. And I really shouldn't make such a big deal about it, but I don't need anyone being condescending. Especially _you_."

The bonsai was silent. Jet sighed, looking down away from it. "I shouldn't be so hard on you; you've lost the most out of it, haven't you?" He asks, smiling a little, and looking back, touching a branch. "Look at you, you need food. The whole replanting's made you all wispy looking. I'm surprised you don't dry up like you normally do when you're stressed. Don't worry. I'll buy some good fertilizer with the little money we have saved. You'll feel better in no time. You're such a worrisome one. The rest are loads easier to maintain."

Jet's smile deepens, and he talks to it like a father to a child. "But I always liked you best. You have great potential. I don't understand why I can't bring that out in you. Maybe that's why I keep hacking away. I shouldn't get frustrated so easily. You know what? I'm going to leave you alone for a while." The bonsai didn't reply. "No, I'm not going to abandon you. Just let you grow naturally. See if anything good comes out of that."

The bonsai stayed complacent. "No, you won't be alone." Jet reassured it, chuckling to himself. Mostly AT himself for the absurdity of talking to a plant.

"God, am I losing my mind?"

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Daniel Joseph found her sitting in the same exact place as the night before, staring at the black screen. He stood in the doorway, unsure of whether to be mad at her for being so selfish, or mad at her for not taking care of herself. He decided it was best to wait for a while. She hadn't seen him yet. He'd wake up a bit more before talking to her.

He had turned to walk away when she said hoarsely. "Lorraine." It was more a wheeze or a cough, like her throat had dried up a long time ago. D.J. paused.

"…what?"

She cleared her throat and said a bit more loudly. "Lorraine. My name's Lorraine." D.J. stood there silently, unsure of what to say. The corny cliché thing to do would be to run over and hug her and say how great she was and that he didn't mean it.

He didn't do that. He hung there like a coat from a hangar, stiff at the shoulders. He wore a pair of old cargos and a wife beater. His hair was tousled and his glasses were a bit off.

She sat there, exactly the same as last night. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, exposing the back of her neck to the heat that lingered like it can only when the air conditioner is broken. Her pale skin was tough, and tightened by the muscles acquired from many hours lifting weights and sparring, as well as from the scars that forced her skin to stretch all along her left arm, crawling up to her shoulder and neck, with one scar so bold enough as to dash her cheek and jaw. She wore a black sports bra and light grey jeans, faded to white in some places, and nearly threadbare.

D.J.'s head fell back and he sighed, saying quite suddenly. "Ah, the beauty of the pathetic."

Jane's head turned slowly. "…what?"

He smiled in a way that evoked no emotion. "Just being poetic. It doesn't suit me." The attempt at humor occupied the room like an unwanted fog, piercing the angst with its awkwardness. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, before Lorraine stood up and said quite decisively, "I'm hungry."

D.J. rested his hands on top of his head. "It's a wonder you're not tired." She walked by him. "Oh I'll crash and end up falling asleep in my cornflakes."

In the kitchen, D.J. called up the nearest Chinese place, and ordered enough food for about eight people. "It's cheaper that way." he said, as though appealing to her. She merely rolled her eyes and turned around, undoing her hair as she walked out of the room. It fell about her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.

D.J.'s eyes followed her, craning his neck to see around the wall. "Where are you going?"

"Shower!" she called back, her voice coming from the bathroom. At that point a reedy, adolescent voice answered the phone.

"Lotus, how may we help you?"

"Oh! Yea, I'd like to order…"

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"Wake up mister Macintyre! Daddy's gonna be mad!"

Joshua pulled his shirt over his head, turning everything pink. He groaned and turned away, putting his headphones back on. "I wasn't asleep."

The girl kept pulling on his arm. "Father person says to wake up, and that you're a late sleeper, and that you lazy young people should get your asses up in the morning!" She half sung, have shouted, grinning like a maniac. He risked a glance at his watch, and found he couldn't see it.

"The sun's not even out yet!" He said incredulously. Francois giggled, plopping down on Joshua's stomach. "Father person's gonna be Ma-ad!" she taunted, rocking side to side.

"Too bad! I'm not getting up until five thirty!" He retorted, then added, "At the LEAST!" then he paused, adding "You can go tell him!" onto the end.

Fran shot up like a rocket, making plane sounds as she ran up the jagged rocks. "Father person! Father person! Mister Macintyre says…" Josh watched her disappear over a particular challenging cliff, falling back into the uncomfortable nook. He sighed and drew his legs up inside the sleeping bag. A streak of light closely followed by a loud crashing, rumbling noise meant a new crater. He groaned and curled into a tighter ball. After a few moments passed, he heard an engine rev, and the sounds of heavy wheels on rubble. So they left without him. That suited Josh just fine; he was perfectly content with 'skipping work' today if it meant he got a full eight hours of sleep.

He'd never believed all that map shit. Personally, he agreed with that bald guy. Maybe in twenty or thirty years, but not now. The only reason he got into it was because it was the only way to use his technical skills without leaving the planet. If he could ever get enough money, he'd definitely move to Mars. Ideally he'd want to live on Octorus, but that cost more to go to, and the living there was more expensive anyway.

As the first rays of light started permeating the shadows around him, he yawned and sat up, stretching. He pulled his shirt on, discarding the normal t-shirt underneath and going with a sleeveless in the summer. He looked down at himself. "Ugh, I need to work out more often." He said, slapping his flat stomach. "I'll be down to a four-pack soon."

He fished around for his pants and pulled them on, staring out at the water. In the distance, the faint sound of a kid's yelling could be heard, getting progressively louder. "Mister Macintyre! Come quick! The Mantis thingie's busted!"

Joshua looked back, his shoulders sagging. "Again!"

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Author's note: Alright, my friend was reading this before I put it up, and I have a couple things to say. Please DON'T send comments that say 'WTF? Why's Jet talking to a tree?' If you do, you haven't seen enough of cowboy bebop to read this spoiler filled thing. Also, don't say 'I no he loves his bonsai and stuff, and yea it's great for his character n stuff, but what does it have to do with the story?' I won't answer those questions. I'd like to say I did get some help understanding things more though, at this site I found last year: great place. Poke around at it.

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	4. ThreeFour Pentatonic

**Three-Four Pentatonic**

**4**

_disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Not even Starbucks. Not even a Starbucks travel mug._

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Faye hadn't seen Jet leave that morning. In fact, she had been looking for him all day, and was about to throw things around the room by the time he returned. He opened the door with a foot, both his arms carrying bags with gardening supplies sticking out of the top. She rounded on him. "_Where_ have you been?"

He looked at her as though this was a stupid question. That's when Faye noticed the groceries. "Oh shopping for your stupid _trees_ were you? Where'd you come up with the money huh?"

Jet looked tired. And he was, in a sense. "Faye, I'm not in the mood."

"You take better care of those bushes than you do us!"

"Faye…" Faye was fuming, but the last fight hadn't left her mind entirely, so she merely folded her arms and tapped her foot as angrily as she could. Jet set the bags down next to the hall and fell onto the couch, a metal hand collapsing onto his forehead and dropping down, dragging his face with it momentarily, before falling into his lap. She looked down at him, masking her confusion with an irritated face. "You haven't been acting…Jet-like…, Jet." She noted.

"Oh haven't I?" He asked stolidly.

She brushed a bit of hair out of her face, making a slightly offended noise at his disinterest. "No you haven't. Are you sick or something?"

"I'm not sick" he replied. "I've just…I'm _exhausted_ Faye. I've held everyone above the water all my life, and sometimes, I get _tired_."

She had expected him to evade the question, and so, upon his saying this, blinked several times as if to shake herself. "Well, hell, you can always ask me to do stuff. Shit, Jet, _I'll _cook tonight if you want."

He held up a hand. "No! I…I'll cook dinner, Faye. I'll be fine. I just need sometime to relax…"

Faye threw her hands up, stalking out of the living room. "Fine! I won't pretend to understand you anymore. Men! Honestly…

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Faye sat on her bed, dressed in a white sleeveless and black shorts, the water rolling sown her skin. She ruffled her hair up with a towel and squeezed it to get the water out. Something black caught her eye, and she paused. It was the video, hovering there on her desk; it didn't seem to touch anything. As she looked at it everything else fuzzed away, as if a camera somewhere in her head was losing its focus, until it was just a black box imposed upon a sheet of steely blue.

She hated that tape. As much as it used to eat away at her to not know who she was, it bothered her more now that she knew. When she remembered her past everything was supposed to change. Everything would go back to normal again. That's how it went in the fairy tales.

Faye had always hated fairy tales. They always featured a beautiful girl who was always perfectly behaved. Then one day she'd get screwed over and something gets blamed on her. Just as the beautiful, stupid, floaty, frilly, wussy girl had had enough, she'd sit down to cry because her life wasn't perfect. Faye supposed there might be people like that. In the real world, no one had sympathy for those types of girls. In fairy tales, though, once the girl would cry, some stupid, gay little elf would come and save the day. The elf or whatever was usually somehow a prince, and so of course the girl must fall in love with him, and they'll live warm and fuzzily after. Stupid, sexist, unoriginal stories. That's all fairy tales were.

With a sudden burst, Faye kicked the betamax, sending it crashing into the opposite wall. She smiled with grim satisfaction as the tape spilled out onto the floor, the intestines of a horrible carnivorous beast that was no more. What had that movie ever done for her anyway? Nothing, that's what. It made her think she could change the past, change peoples minds. And now Spike was dead. There was little she could do before, and nothing she could do now. She should've left when she had the chance, avoid all of this mess. Spike was the one responsible for all of it. Even now, Jet walked with a limp, a personal memento from Spike, trying to shift the blame on them, trying to say it was their fault for messing around with him.

Well, he had no right to say that. All Jet ever tried to do was clean up the boy's mess, and Faye only ever did was…um…hang around. Hang around and get caught. Like the pansy frilly girl in the fairy tale.

Faye kicked her desk, using exactly as much klutzyness as is needed to hit the corner on her instep, breaking her skin nicely.

"AGH! _FUCK_!"

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Lorraine opened the bathroom, and glanced around. It was dingy and small, with the fluorescent bulb flickering every once in a while. She looked up at the water stained ceiling tiles, with a cracked light and a vent, slightly ajar, in the corner, making a wind tunnel effect. She was pretty sure she could her rats up there.

She shook her head, disgusted, and closed the door again, walking back to their table, and donning an air of a gothic princess. Her striped stockings and short black shredded skirt helped a bit. D.J. sat at the table, brooding over his quarter-caff macchiato tenellato latte vente, with everything dyed black except the tips of his hair, which was done up in the ancient, yet for some odd reason insanely popular flock of seagulls haircut. He looked at her legs first, then at her. She looked back at him, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. He scowled for real.

"I'm sorry, It's just so weird looking!"

"Well why do you think I wore sunglasses? Lennon-esque as they are..." They conversed in hushed tones.

"Who the hell was Lennon anyway?"

"I dunno, some hippie, I think."

"Where'd you get those glasses?"

"…around." He said, looking secretive.

Lorraine sighed. "I can't believe they were out of colored contacts."

"I know, right? All I wanted were black eyes."

"I know. Who ever heard of a Goth with bright green?"

"I hope some one has…"

"It makes you look like a cry baby!"

"Ye- Hey wait!"

"I'm not saying you _are _one!"

D.J. glared at her over through the steam of his coffee. She went back to reading her book, which had a black and red morbid dust cover. The cover went to a different book, and so didn't fit exactly.

D.J. glanced at the book. "Which one is that?" She turned the page, eyes glued to the print. "_Psychology of memory."_

He snorted. "Oh the creepy one about memory wipes?" She nodded in response, taking a sip of her coffee, which had a name to long for her to remember. "Aren't they banned now?"

"Well duh. The only reason they were ever legal was because of some stupid loop hole." She replied. Listen to this. This guy, Doctor Peter St. Peter, PhD, the one who invented it? He was manic depressive. Became addicted to them. Nearly turned his head into tapioca. When they took him into custody he slit his wrists." D.J.'s eyes widened around the glasses. "Does the book say why?"

Lorraine nodded, catching a look from one of the workers, and closing the book decisively. "In a different chapter. Come on, before _that _guy notices us." She jerked her head in the direction of a skinny, spiky-haired cashier.

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Jet eyed her oddly, leaving his cooking unattended for a moment as he backed out of the kitchen, staring at her.

Faye turned around mid hop. She held a washcloth to her foot; hand out to brace herself against the wall if she fell. She looked over her shoulder; her body contorted in a way Jet didn't know was humanly possible. His lip was pulled up and eyebrows raised in a 'huh?' expression. Faye, looking like a poster girl for yoga, hopped around to quasi-face him.

"Where are the band-aids?"

"There in the bathroom…"

"Well which one!"

"Any of 'em! Just look in the cabinets."

"OK then…" Faye said, turning back to go, but was stopped by Jet's perssistant "Why?"

She turned back to face him, the look on her face obviously that of pain. "Because I gashed my _fucking _foot on my _fucking_ desk, and I'm trying to _fucking_ find the _fucking_ band-aids, but it won't stop _fucking_ bleeding! That's _fucking_ why jet!" Jet's eyebrow went up even higher. "That's because your moving around too much. Go sit down and put your foot on something." He replied. "I'll go get the bandages." He turned to the nearest bathroom, after putting the burners on low.

Faye glared at his back as he walked away. "Yea, easy for you too say. How 'bout I put my foot on your shiny little head?" She mumbled to herself in one of those not-too-rare instances where she was mad enough to do anything. But then she remembered the other day, when they had that argument on the stairs. It was an odd thing to remember just then, and completely out of the blue, but somehow held some sway over to her, Because she hobbled over to the uncomfortable yellow sofa and propped her leg on the table, suddenly very weary.

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Jhonen looked at his pink haired comrade, a sort of fear on his face. "Why don't _you_ do something?"

His friend worked the frappuchino machine. The plastic orange summery-goodness colored name plaque stated his name was Roman. He looked at the door, and back at Jhonen. "Man, no way. _You're_ the one who thinks it's her! You open the door!"

Jhonen was taken aback. "Alright, one; it is TOTTALLY is her, and two, you're all gangly-ish." He said, running his fingers through his spiked hair.

Roman frowned. "What does that have to do with anything!" This comment received dirty looks from the guy across from him. "If we're down to stupid comments about one another, okay fine, you talk like a metro!"

Jhonen leaned forward, pointing one finger at the door, the other at Roman in his erratic animated way. "You're taller! You can run faster if she pulls a gun at you."

"WHAT!"

Jhonen sighed. "Alright, fine. On three together…"

"I guess."

"One" Jhonen started, looking at Roman a bit before he caught on.

"Wh- I …Oh! Two…"

"Thre-"

"Oh! Yes!" Said the female of the pair. Roman's eye's widened. "Are they…?" He asked, the ohs and yeses continuing. Jhonen turned slowly towards the door. "They're _fucking_!"

"They can't do that in a Starbucks bathroom!"

"well, why don't _you_ tell them to stop!"

"No way, what if you are right? She'd blow my head off!"

"Hell, maybe it'll be like one of those ten minute orgies before one of them has to leave for a meeting."

"_what_!"

"Don't ever do weekday mornings my friend."


	5. Techno Feast

**Techno Feast**

**5**

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A/n O.k. A Very belated, yet equally grateful, thanks to Picon. See, I've had these chapters written for a while, just never bothered to upload them. Anyway, this didn't have as much of Lorraine and D.J. as I wanted, but it's still pretty cool, and I promise you I didn't lie about the genres. SEE! It's getting less angsty and more actiony! Kelly a.k.a Loofer

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Jet was surprised. Faye had actually done what he said. He opened his mouth as if to make a remark about this, but thought better of it, recalling her mood and how they've been blowing such small things out of scale lately.

He hopped down the steps, unwrapping the roll of gauze. Faye watched him, not altogether trusting, as he sat down. He leaned forward to look at the cut, which had nearly stopped bleeding, but hadn't really clotted yet.

"Man Faye, how hard did you kick it?" Faye groaned, her head lolling back a bit. "I don't know, should I have gauged it?"

"No." He said, putting the bandages next to her foot.

He did it without thinking, which didn't happen often; mainly when under extreme duress. As far as Jet knew he wasn't now, but he still was surprised by his own actions as he reached out with his left hand, meaning to grab her foot. He paused. He should've asked her. Hell, he should have at least warned her he was going to. His facial features compressed in a flinch, taking his time before looking up at her face.

As soon as the hand touched her skin, Faye retracted a bit, a gasp escaping her lips. She stared at the appendage a moment before coming to her senses and meeting Jet's eyes. He looked regretful, even apologetic. She wondered why for a moment, and then became aware of the look on her face. She hurried to explain.

"I-It was cold. It startled me, that's all," She said.

Jet knew that it was meant to make him feel better, but it really didn't. Jet hadn't thought about his arm in a while, and it made him uncomfortable to do so. He pushed it away into the back of his mind like he always did. He could always come back to it again when he wasn't healing wounds.

He paused, this time moving slower, picking her foot up off the table. It had to be his left hand, he couldn't avoid it. He needed his right hand to apply the bandages. In the moment of silence that followed, Jet felt a very odd presence. He all of a sudden had the sense he could feel Faye's mood change. Maybe it was from spending too much time with her. Maybe he was finally going insane. Who knew? Either way, he could tell, as the quiet filled the air around them, probing the air in their lungs like a toddler tests the pool water, that she was lost in memories. Knowing her, he could guess which memories.

"…Do you miss him, Faye?" He asked, snapping Faye out of her daydreaming. He wore that serious expression with that gaze that pierces your mind, leaving you stammering as you try to recuperate.

"Well, Who? I- No! Of course not! The little bastard brought in on himself, you know."

Jet looked back down at his hands, observing them as if they weren't part of his body; the way someone might watch television. There was a pause, broken by his voice. Faye had really never paid attention to it before. His voice anyway. When he spoke softly, it did something. His voice had, oh what were those things called…subtleties! She never really noticed them when he barked things at her. This was a different Jet. It must have been the Jet that _he_ saw. Certainly Jet had spoken like this before, otherwise he'd be stumbling through his speech, or forcing the words out in an unnatural manner…

"Hey Faye…"

She paused. "…What?"

"We're all that's left," He said, his tone a bit sad. He was right Ed had left. So had Spike. Hell, even the –dog- left. And as loud as they could get sometimes, They couldn't fill up the vast emptiness that Jet had donned 'The Bebop' so many years ago.

Faye sighed, staring straight ahead. "Yep…

Jet sighed, finishing up the job and slapping his hand on the table. "Yelp," He said loudly. "Just have to do our beast he said, and walking off, hands on hips, eyebrows raised in a forcibly unconcerned face.

Faye watched him leave, truly wondering if it was Jet that just said that.

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"Ow! Christ, D.J!"

Lorraine rubbed her watering eye, temporarily removing her sunglasses. D.J. looked whimpery in front of her. "Jeez, sorry, Jane. It's really cramped up here."

"Well no duh it's a heating vent!" The girl whispered, the sex tape still playing down in the restroom. She finished with her eye. It still hurt, but at least she could see again.

"Alright which way?" She asked. D.J.'s watch lit up the 'ceiling' above him, with green lines and moving dots. The whole shebang. "…east"

She looked at him in her special way that said 'don't be stupid dumbass.'

"Which iiiiiiis?"

D.J. sighed. "That way." He pointed a finger over her shoulder. "Turn around."

It continued that way a while, D.J. pointing which way when they came to a fork in the duct, and Lorraine getting basically pissed off at anything breathing and non-breathing.

Finally they came to a grate in the 'floor', Lorraine held a hand up for present company to stop, flipping on her back and plugging something that looked like an egg timer into the 'ceiling' above her.

Sweat dripped down D.J.'s face, soaking his black shirt, and making the eye make-up run. He turned down to his wristwatch, pressing a few buttons on it, and even more with the sensory glove on the other hand. Of course to the observer not familiar with technology it would look like he was gesticulating meaninglessly.

"On mark…" He said, breathing heavily. Lorraine was in the same state, though her paler skin and the green glow from the watch made her stand out all the more.

"Steady…" Lorraine slowly turned the timer to a small picture of a skull.

"Set…" She lifted her shirt a bit, pressing a few buttons on her belt. LED lights flashed on the inside of her glasses, flashing numbers, statistics, and readings. She then secured a cable to a special glove, and holding it out to D.J. As soon as he took it, she reached down, putting her hand on a keypad stuck to the wall. Hooks shot out of the soles on her 'Vintage 2010' Chuck Taylor's, securing the mettle grate to her foot.

While Lorraine was doing this, D.J. Hooked the cable to his belt loop, pulling up a sleeve to reveal an adhesive sensor pad on his arm. He typed away madly, watching the 'egg timer' as it flashed with yellow and blue lights. "all go." He muttered under his breath.

"Stay…" The hacker said, a luck term for thieves. Lorraine clasped hands with him, and he leaned down, stealing a kiss spider-man style, before bracing his legs.

"Mark!"

The device glued to the metal plate above spewed steam and emitted a soft hissing noise. All was silent and still for one terrifying moment, then The vent started to shutter. The two figures held on to each other's hand in a death grip, everymuscle in their body tense in anticipation of the shock.

The affect is hard to describe. Supersonic waves, mixed with blasts of cold and hot, sonicpulse, micropulse, any pulse you could name off of the top of your head. The coup de grace, the little devilish implement above dealt out strategically placed magnetic pulls.

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It went on for twenty minutes, in which time, both their fingernails had dug into each others skin, causing blood to surface. Then it was over. From the knee down, Lorraine's foot dangled out of the new escape route, the weight of the grate making it swing slightly. The screws were somewhere on the ground ten feet below.

D.J. sighed in relief, shoulder's sagging into their natural sloping shape. "All clear," He said softly, like an actor after a good performance. "Alarms down. Situation secure. Code Green. Whatever the hell else can I say, Am I cliché enough yet?"

Lorraine laughed, loosing the metal scrap from her shoe. It clattered below. No problem; the room was soundproof.

"How long 'til they know they're being screwed with?" She asked as she started to slip out to the room below, one hand on the hem of her shirt to keep it from riding up.

"About twenty minutes." He replied, holding on to her wrist tight.

"Great. I might get to have some fun if I'm lucky." She pulled on the skin mask. "See you soon babe."

One more kiss later, and she was gone.

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"Dammit, Faye, my ship's not a storage closet!"

Faye looked in at the boxes lining the passenger seat of the Hammerhead. A shrug was given in reply to Jet. "They're not getting in your way, And I don't want to bring them in yet."

Jet groaned, mumbling under his breath. "Lazy, insensitive little bi-"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "They're a surprise."

He blinked, shoulders tensing a bit and arms unfolding. "What?"

"I thought it would be the least place you'd look." Faye said playfully, one hand on her hip, the other wagging. Jet raised an eyebrow.

"What are you trying to pull?" He asked suspiciously.

Faye backed away from the cockpit and patting him on the back as she walked by. "No peeking Jet." She said as she walked out the door.

Jet was first befuddled, then confused, then decided to screw it and just go.

To his credit, he never looked in the boxes.

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Faye sat on a couch, feeling rather stupid with just _one _stocking on. The other wouldn't fit on her gauze covered foot. She sighed, hefting the Computer onto her lap. She sat and stared at it blankly. She was trying to surf, but it wasn't working. The search engine merely stared back at her, daring her to enter something in and see the many boring results it came up with. Fine.

She typed slowly, stolidly, one finger only, keystroke after key stroke. After a few minutes she had typed in 'How to get a million dollars or more with very little effort and a lot of looks, preferably something with guns or gambling. I'm real good at gambling'

The computer replied such : 'no results were found. Try limiting your inquiry to less words.'

"Oh yea? Well why the fuck do they call you googolplex?" She asked angrily, shoving the computer onto the couch cushion next to her.

It took five minutes to lure her back to the LED screen. First she started searching Faye valentine. Way too many hits. She tried advanced search, typing 'big, shot, bounty, hunter, con" under the 'not containing' part. Just a bunch of crap and census records. Well shit.

She paused a minute, then typed in 'Spike Speigel', then backspaced quickly. She didn't want to know about his shit. She pondered for a bit more, then typed 'Jet Black' in. Woah. Lots of sunglasses ads. After she narrowed down the search a bit she finally was able to get to the police file. She grinned mischievously.

Thanks to Ed's leftover hacking programs, she was able to decode the stuff in a snap.

"Hmm, so he was an officer at the age of twenty two eh?... What! He's thirty six!" The dialogue to herself went like this for a good portion of the hour, as she searched members of his family. She didn't even want to know this stuff about Jet, but it was fun looking it up.

All those names. Pao Pu, Bob Hannessee, Carmine Stewart, Sidney moran, Marvolo Black, Vanessa Black, Katrina Komissarai, Stevin Black, Selena Jones, Amber Coleman, Andrew Black, Dominic Black, Francis Gadfly, Lorraine Black, Samuel Miller, Tony Franklyn, Joseph Carter, on and on and on! The list went on! Faye had to stop. Information overload had given her a headache.

As she fished around for aspirin in the bathroom cabinet, The ringing sound of an incoming call came in. Popping the pills, she rushed out and dived on the couch, reaching it at the last second.

"Jet!" A guy yelled. At sight of Faye he faltered, eyes falling down past her chin, then hurriedly back up, blushing.

"He's not here."

"I can see that."

Faye scowled. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Why are you calling?"

"Where's Jet?"

Feye groaned. "Ugh. He's out."

"Well I need to talk to him, can I lea-"

"I'm his PARNTER!"

"…oh…"


	6. Interlude

**Interlude**

**6**

-----------------------------------------

A/n: Alright, it's SUPPOSED to be short. That's why its called interlude. Also, yay for Ed.

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Lorraine sucked her stomach in, sliding under the six inches of space between the garage door and the ground, her pinky finger clearing just as the door closed. Immediately she was up on her feet. The room was completely dark. In haste, Lorraine fiddled with the dial on the sunglasses, switching from mode to mode, until she found night vision. Although it did help, she was nonplussed. The room was empty, an eleven, by eleven, by eleven cube of air with a garage door. There were no other visible exits.

She turned about, looking at the giant steel bolts on the door, inspecting them. Titanium alloy. Next she walked the room's perimeter, hand running along the wall in a lazy fashion. Cold brushed steel. Next she walked to the center of the room, but stumbled and fell forward, hands thrown out in front to brace herself. The floor was cement. No telling how far it went. She picked herself up, looking at the ceiling. She pressed a few buttons on her sunglasses, but she couldn't analyze the substance.

Suddenly she got an idea. Pressing the hidden keypad on the palm of her glove, she scratched an ear, inconspicuously putting a small speaker onto her earring, which in itself was a microchip. You could never know when someone was watching you. She waited as the sonar sound spread through the room. The readings came back, filtered through the silver hoop to the LED lights on the sunglasses. Each wall was five feet thick. No luck there. The ceiling however, was only half a foot deep. Sheet rock.

She sighed. The walls were to far apart to vault. This meant breaking out the new equipment. One more press of the keypad, and her converse were lined with fast binding gel. Another neat substance she swiped. She reluctantly pulled on the new gloves, the fingertips forming micro beads coated with the same substance as her shoes.

As physically fit as she was, scaling walls this way was more difficult than she expected. She kept thinking she was going to slip. It took about two minutes to get up eleven feet. Lorraine made a mental note then and there to rock climb more often.

The sonic reading said that the ceiling wasn't dense. Even so, Lorraine hesitated. Something wasn't right.

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"Mac'n man, Mac'n man, josh-u-a's a Mac'n man! Mac'n man, Mac'n…" Francois sang/squealed, circling Joshua as he walked into town. He had had just about enough. Joshua had been listening to Fran singing 'Mac'n man." For over half an hour, during which, she had not stopped circling him.

"Fran!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeees, mister Macintyre?" She said in a watery deep voice, arms undulating at her sides as she hop-skipped to keep up with him.

"Why Are you following me?"

"Because Father-person SAID…."

"Never mind. I don't want to know what 'Father-person' said." Joshua hunched over, his shoulders drooping, his hair starting to turn yellowy at the roots. The whole reason he had walked for an hour to get food was to buy Purple dye as well. Otherwise he'd've let Appeldheri do it. He rolled his neck, a few vertebrae cracking, at which Fran Shouted "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW" and laughed hysterically, singing a new song which was called 'crack, crack'.

He sighed, mumbling to himself.

"The old geezer doesn't trust me."

"EEEXACKLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Ok. thanks Fran."

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He just watched silently as a ship flew by. He wanted nothing more than to be on that ship right now. The bag of tomatoes and eggs slowly slipped from his arms, only to be caught by Fran, who did a great job of balancing it on her head, a tomato or two spilling out every minute.

"Why did mister Macintyre stop?"

Joshua never looked away from the sky, though he was able to fish around until he plucked the bag from Fran's head, placing it safely on the ground.

"Mister Macintyre's stopped because he doesn't want to go back."

"Mister….Mister Macyntire doesn't…doesn't like us? Doesn't like _Ed_?" The girl whimpered.

He smiled, looking down to the girl. "Of course I do, it's just…wait…_Ed!_"

Ed nodded vigorously, face carrying that creepy grin that was too big for her mouth.

"Uh huh. Ed is Ed is Fran is Fran!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms out wide, starting with the airplane noises again. Joshua just watched her for a while, wind tugging at the tails of his pink shirt. He imagined it must look very picturesque, in an insane asylum way.

"Right."

**Next Episode: My Head Feels like That.**


End file.
